


Sherrinford

by wesseling



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bit of violence but nothing too graphic, Attempted Murder, Kid Mycroft, Kid Sherlock, Redbeard - Freeform, sherrinford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7629691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesseling/pseuds/wesseling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Holmes family life. Sherlock's life from baby up to the age of four. And how does Sherrinford fit into this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherrinford

**Author's Note:**

> Saw the trailer of series 4 and immediately had to write this down. 
> 
> Plus these two quotes inspired it:   
> Mycroft: "You know what happened to the other one."  
> Sherlock: "You hate Christmas."
> 
> Not beta-read. All the mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Mother and Father - but mostly Mother - had hoped for a little girl. But it wasn't meant to be and so another boy made an addition to the Holmes family.

So pretty quickly no one really paid that much attention to baby Sherlock anymore. Father took on to educate Sherrinford and you further on and Mother watched over the baby. Everyone was so focused on their studies that it took even Father a long time to realise that there was something going on with Mother. You could hear the baby crying and crying and it would take longer and longer for it to calm down. You wouldn't go that far as to being worried. You just really wanted to please Father and accomplish all your studies on time. It was Sherrinford who would get enraged when the baby kept on crying. He would clench his teeth, his body going rigid and his knuckles turning white, while he was writing equations on the chalk board. Father would always smash his stick on the table reminding Sherrinford and you to focus and not be distracted.

At supper Mother would always look exhausted. Father would lovingly place his hand on hers, not saying anything, just looking at her. “He is a fussy baby. Not easy to please.”

It happened when Father went away on a business trip for a couple of days. You and Sherrinford were in the library reading when the baby started crying again. Right from the start Sherrinford angrily looked up from his book and stared in the direction where the noise was coming from. “Keep reading,” you said. Now you knew that the baby eventually would calm down. Mother would make sure of that. She always did. Sherlock was a fussy baby, it would just take some time for Mother to find out what it was that Sherlock needed right now.

You focused on your reading, once in a while rebuked Sherrinford and blocked out the noise. It was only when you finished the book you glanced at the clock and realised that over an hour had passed and the baby was still crying. You told Sherrinford to keep reading and left the room. You told yourself that you were not dismissing a direct order from your Father, you were just going to the bathroom. The fact that it was not the nearest bathroom to the library but the one behind the nursery was not an issue.

Sherlock was laying in his crib, his face red from crying and his cheeks wet. You couldn't see Mother and for the first time in a long time you were confused. You stretched your arms out into the crib and realised that this would be the first time that you held your youngest brother in your arms. You carefully placed a hand under his head, the other between his legs and picked him up. You felt pretty insecure and Sherlock kept squirming so you pressed him harder against your body. Almost immediately Sherlock's crying died down to a whimper. You could feel how wet Sherlock's back was and also his nappy felt soaked. You looked around the room. You had never changed a baby before but you thought you remembered how Mother did it. You were too small to put Sherlock on the changing table so you carefully placed him down on the carpet, making calming noises. Sherlock's whimper turned into a sob while you looked for fresh nappies and a clean romper suit. When you passed by the big wing chair you gasped. There was Mother. Sitting with her back to the crib. Her eyes staring at the wall.

“What is wrong with Mother?” Sherrinford had entered the room. Sherlock's sob turned into a cry again. “He did this to her. It's his fault!” Sherrinford stormed towards the baby, raising his leg, ready to stomp on it. You had the presence of mind to stop him from just doing that. “Look after Mother, try to talk to her,” you said and went down on your knees to undress Sherlock. You sloppily wiped him clean and got him dressed again. All the while you could hear Sherrinford talking to Mother but she was not responding. You put Sherlock back into his crib sticking a pacifier in his mouth. For the first time in over an hour it was quiet.

You went over to Sherrinford and Mother. “Go back to the library. Keep reading.”

“No!” Sherrinford yelled.

“Mother is just tired. I will take her to bed,” you said in a stern voice, imitating your Father. Sherrinford clenched his teeth, knowing that when Father wasn't around, you were in charge. You could see Sherrinford looking at the crib with an almost murderous glare as he left the room.

You tugged on Mother's sleeve, tried to pull her up. With much difficulty you managed to get her inside her own bed. You closed the door.

Sherlock had started crying again. You looked inside the crib and had no idea what to do. You tried to put the pacifier back in his mouth but he spit it out immediately. He was dry, he could sleep if he were tired, so the only thing that could be wrong was that he was hungry. You went inside the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to see a bottle of breast milk standing there. Now you had seen Mother warm it up before feeding it to Sherlock. You had no idea how warm it should be.

The bottle felt hot. You squirted a bit on your hand and the liquid burned you. Letting cold water run over the burned skin felt good. You felt the bottle again and decided after another test it was cool enough. You went over to Sherlock and stuck the bottle in his mouth. He greedily sucked on it. The bottle was almost empty when Sherlock spit up. Hastily you got him out of his crib and rolled him on his stomach. It took you some time to clean everything up. You fed the rest of the bottle to Sherlock and both of you fell asleep.

 

The next day Mother seemed fine again. She had made you all breakfast and encouraged Sherrinford and you to continue with your studies. However in the afternoon you could hear Sherlock cry again. You told Sherrinford to keep reading and went outside. When you reached the nursery you could hear someone else crying, too. Mother was sitting in the armchair again but this time holding Sherlock in her arms. Both their faces were wet from tears. You took Sherlock from her arms and placed him the crib. Then you guided Mother back to her own bed and closed the door.

 

You tried to care for Sherlock as best as you could. Trying to figure out what it was that he needed. “He's making her feel sad,” Sherrinford said. “Go back to the library.” Sherrinford narrowed his eyes to slits. “I hate him.”

 

The next morning Father had returned home and everything seemed fine again. Mother was cheerful. When Sherlock cried she sang to him, rocked him, fed him, changed him until he was calm. Father however was not in a good mood. He was quite disappointed in you and Sherrinford as you hadn't finished all your work on time. He made you study even harder.

 

You thought it was just your imagination that Mother looked sad, only for a fraction of a second, because she would always give you the warmest smile.

 

A few weeks later Father had to leave the house again for a couple of days. Mother seemed anxious and Father suggested to stay home but in the end Mother insisted that he'd go. During the second night you suddenly woke up. You could hear Sherlock crying. With a queasy feeling you got out of bed and headed towards the nursery. There was Mother standing in front of the crib, shaking. “What is it? What else can I do? What do you want?” Sherlock answered with more cries.

“Mother?” You announced yourself. She spun around and looked at you, first surprised then angrily. “Go back to bed, Mycroft.”

You came closer. “I can help.”

“Didn't you hear what I said? GO BACK TO BED!” She threw a clean nappy in your direction, then put both of her hands on the railing of the crib and started crying alongside Sherlock. You tentatively went over to her, tugged on her sleeve and led her out of the nursery and into her own bed yet again. When you closed your parents' bedroom door Sherlock stopped crying. Just like that. Your heart started pounding very fast. You ran inside the nursery and watched Sherrinford pressing a pillow down on Sherlock's face. It couldn't have taken longer than one second for you to act but in your mind it was a slow realisation that your younger brother was just trying to kill your youngest brother. You pushed him to the side then got the pillow off of Sherlock's face. The baby took one deep breath and screamed! You looked down on the floor at Sherrinford.

“He is making Mother sick! He needs to die!” Your thoughts were racing. You were trying to decide what to do. You came to the conclusion to just act first and comprehend later. You grabbed your five-year-old brother by his arm and dragged him into the bathroom as it was the only room in the house that you could lock. And you did just that. Sherrinford was kicking and punching the door from the inside screaming like you'd never heard a child scream like before. You went back to the nursery, picked Sherlock up and pressed him close to you. You knew that Father had left a number in case of an emergency and this was just that.

 

The next morning a doctor came into the house and examined Mother. Father had told you and Sherrinford to stay inside your rooms. You tried to eavesdrop but you couldn't make out any of the words.

In the end Father told them that Mother would need to got to the hospital for a few weeks and that he would stay home and a nanny would come and help them out. Sherrinford threw a fit.

 

During the first week of Mother's absence Father called the hospital every afternoon while you and Sherrinford were reading in the library. Afterwards Father would inform you that Mother's health was improving and that you were able to visit her on Sunday. A nanny had been taking care of Sherlock the past five days. Though she clearly struggled at times. You always managed to finish your work before Sherrinford did. This was the time when you went inside the nursery and asked the nanny to place the whining Sherlock in your arms. At first reluctantly but later quite willingly she handed the baby over to you where it would calm down within seconds. Understandably Father was not very satisfied with her work and already looked for a replacement.

 

It was Sunday and you were looking forward to seeing Mother again. She greeted you with a big warm smile. She looked rested. After a quick kiss and cuddle with you and Sherrinford, she demanded Father to hand over Sherlock. She pressed the baby against her body, kissed it, spoke softly and uttered how much she loved little Sherlock. Sherrinford then tried to climb into the bed and put his hands behind Mother's neck, smothering Sherlock entirely. “Sherrinford, get down.” Father grabbed him and made him stay put. He clearly didn't want that but didn't dare to get away from Father again.

 

Mother had to stay at the clinic for another week. The new nanny proved herself to be more competent at taking care of Sherlock and so Father spent almost the whole day in his office while you and Sherrinford were studying in the library. She always rewarded you with a treat when you finished early. In a way those sugary treats were very comforting.

 

When Mother finally returned home, the nanny continued to work for the Holmes' family for two more weeks. Mother seemed to have made a full recovery, although she still had to take a pill every morning.

 

After Sherlock's first birthday Mother announced that she wanted to go back to work again. It soon proved to be an impossible task because the new nanny (the old one was married by now) was not able to take care of Sherlock and to supervise you and Sherrinford at the same time. Your parents had two more nannies coming in but Sherlock was giving everyone a hard time. So involuntarily Mother stayed home and looked after Sherlock and was in charge of your and Sherrinford's further education. Both your Mother and your Father had decided against sending you to a regular school, feeling that your minds would benefit more from homeschooling.

 

However it eventually became obvious that although your minds were thriving your social skills, especially with children your own age, were underdeveloped. So your parents decided to send you to boarding school to mingle.

 

Sherrinford was still being homeschooled. He would be until he was old enough to go to boarding school. Though he was encouraged to take up a sport to engage with children his own age.

 

It took some adjusting to this new life away from home and you were really looking forward to the Christmas break. All the other children seemed so dull. When you arrived at the station a nanny picked you up. She told you that Mother had the flu and that Father was away on a business trip. On Christmas eve Mother was still a bit under the weather. The nanny however had gone home the day before and Father tried his best to help out in the kitchen. Sherlock proved to be a bit of a handful again, demanding Mother's attention constantly.

On Christmas day every Holmes boy was occupied with unwrapping their presents. Sherrinford had developed an interest in anatomy and happily started reading the specialized literature he received.

Sherlock on the other hand was discontent with his presents and complained that he hadn't got what he wanted. Mother reassured him that there were still presents waiting for him on his birthday that was twelve days from now.

That evening Mother excused herself to bed early. The next morning she still didn't feel well enough and stayed in bed. Father and you engaged in a deep conversation about Plato. Sherrinford had finished his first textbook on anatomy and started his second. Sherlock however was bored and tried to get everyone's attention. Running circles around the chair Sherrinford was reading in. During the fourth round Sherrinford stretched his leg suddenly, making Sherlock trip. He fell flat on his face and started crying. Father shot Sherrinford a disapproving look. “He was annoying me,” Sherrinford replied coldly and continued reading. Father went to pick Sherlock up and cuddled him in his arms. He examined Sherlock's body and found that he had a carpet burn on his nose and his knees. “Sherrinford I think it is best for you to go to your room and think about better ways how to deal with your little brother.” Sherrinford ground his teeth, shut his textbook and left the library. “Certainly Father.” Sherlock had calmed down and started squirming in Father's arms, so Father put him down. “I will get you some ointment for your skin. You just wait here.”

It was the first time in a long time that you and Sherlock were alone in one room. Plus you hadn't spend any time with Sherlock in the past months since you went to boarding school. You were at a total loss how to interact with your youngest brother.

“I'm bored,” Sherlock said.

“Then go and play with your new toys, Sherlock,” you suggested.

“I want to play a game with Mummy.”

You sighed. “She is still recovering from the flu. She needs to rest.”

Sherlock pouted. You rolled your eyes. “Okay, what do you want to play? I will play one game with you.”

Sherlock picked up a board game with a man drawn on it. It was a game that tested the players' hand-eye coordination and fine motor skills. It was called 'Operation'. Meanwhile Father had returned and had put some ointment on Sherlock's burns. Sherlock hadn't even noticed, being so focused on setting up the game. “How nice of you to play with your brother, Mycroft. That boarding school seemed to do you some good already,” Father smiled and left you two to it.

Now you had planned on letting Sherlock win to humour him, but it soon became evident that he was actually better at playing this game than you were. After you lost for the fourth time in a row, you got ambitious and tried to beat Sherlock. But it was no use. The nose lit up yet again when you attempted to get the funny bone out. Sherlock looked at you with a cheeky smile.

 

At supper Mother was still feeling pretty weak and so Father brought her a bowl of soup to her bed. She reminded Father that it was time to give Sherlock a bath. Sherlock was very reluctant and Father had to use some force to undress him. Before however he could put Sherlock into the bathtub he ran off. You wanted to help Father and tried to coax Sherlock into the bathroom by promising him another round of 'Operation' after his bath. “I don't want you. I want Mummy!” And a naked Sherlock continued to run around in the house. Now Father had reached the point of becoming angry and ordered Sherlock to take his bath. Sherlock made one last attempt to escape when suddenly Sherrinford came out of his room, grabbed Sherlock by his curly hair and dragged him towards the bathroom. “Sherrinford! What on earth are you doing?” Father looked alarmed.

“He was not following your order. I corrected his behaviour.” Sherrinford said matter-of-factly.

Father took a deep breath. “This is it. Everyone go to bed now!”

“But Father-”

“NOW, I said.”

 

It was too early. You were not tired but you closed your eyes anyway. You didn't really have that much of a choice. Father had said “Lights out!”. When you woke up it was 2:13 a.m. You turned around, closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep again. It was not likely. You decided to go to the bathroom when you saw the glow of light from under Sherrinford's bedroom door. The door was in fact ajar and you pushed it open to look inside the room. Sherrinford's bed was empty, in fact he was not even in his room at all. Now you deduced that he probably just went to the bathroom when your eyes caught sight of the opened book on the floor. An ice-cold shiver ran down your spine.

You ran towards Sherlock's room and caught Sherrinford just in that moment when he cut through the femoral artery. Blood sprayed everywhere immediately. You pushed Sherrinford away from Sherlock and pressed down on the wound with the bedding. Sherrinford growled at you like an animal that had just been denied its prey. You looked at him, his face was covered in blood. Sherlock's blood. He was still holding the knife in his hand. “Let him die!” He screamed and came at you with the knife raised. You had no choice. You had to let go of Sherlock. You blocked the knife with one hand and with all the force you could muster you punched Sherrinford's larynx. He collapsed onto the floor and struggled for air. You turned around to Sherlock. The bedding was soaked in blood. Panic was threatening to take over. You willed it away. You pulled Sherlock off the bed, down on the floor, took off your pajama-top and pressed down on the wound as hard as you could. Then you remembered to scream.

 

For the past ten days it had been touch and go. Sherlock had lost a lot of blood. He had received multiple transfusions of donated blood. His heart had given out twice before he had even reached the hospital. His chest was covered in bruises, a tube pumped oxygen into his lungs. He hadn't regained consciousness yet. His doctor thought it best to put him into an artificial coma to help his body heal. A thick layer of bandage was wrapped around his right thigh. The doctor explained to your parents that Sherlock was lucky to keep his right leg. When he was first admitted and even the next day it looked like they might have to amputate it in order to save his life. Sherlock was now stable. He was still in intensive care and wasn't allowed to have any visitors but the doctors and nurses made an exception. Today was Sherlock's fourth birthday. Mother had put some cards and also some presents on the table in the corner of the room. She had even brought a helium-filled balloon but was not allowed to tie it on his hospital bed as she had planned to. So she handed it over to you. To you it almost felt like a lifeline.

Mother attempted to sing to Sherlock but her voice broke several times. Father stood behind her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. You closed your eyes and listened to the bleeping of the machines and the whoosh of the respirator, the only thing grounding you the helium-filled balloon in your left hand.

 

Sherrinford had been admitted to a mental hospital, a closed institution. Mother and Father had visited him only twice since the attack. At least as far as you knew.

You had no desire to see him. Every time you envisioned his face it was covered in Sherlock's blood.

 

After four weeks the doctors reduced Sherlock's medication to get him out of the coma. The doctors made it clear that it could take a couple of days until he woke up. On the fifth day he finally opened his eyes and was very disorientated. He tried to pull out his catheter and the doctors had to sedate him again. They had also put him on pain medication. You worried how his small body would handle all these drugs.

 

Mother and Father tried to be at the hospital every day now. She read stories to Sherlock and Father had brought his violin. Everything to stimulate Sherlock's brain.

 

Father suggested you should go back to boarding school. Settle in a routine again. In a way you were looking forward to it. Home had become a strange place to be at. Sherrinford's and Sherlock's doors had been kept shut ever since the end of December. Like their rooms had stopped to exist. You stayed home alone quite often these days. Father had talked to the school and had required the necessary information so you wouldn't fall behind on your school work. You finished that work quite quickly as it was not very challenging for you. With no one in the house telling you what to do next, you roamed the house and always ended up in the kitchen. The pantry full of snacks and pastries was empty within a week.

 

Sherlock's recovery took weeks. You always visited him on Sundays right before you had to catch your train back to boarding school.

After Sherlock was completely off the respirator it took him some days to form his first words again. Instead he used to observe the room, study the people who entered, watched everyone's move. His eyes scrutinizing every little thing that was going on and his brain processing everything.

You tried to challenge Sherlock. Turned it into a game. You stated that the nurse had got to work on a bike by pointing out the little splashes of dirt on her socks and that the doctor had slept on a sofa due to his obvious neck problems. When a different doctor came in to listen to Sherlock's chest, you asked him what he had observed and deduced. “Cat,” he had said with a hoarse sounding voice and pointed to the one black hair on the doctor's coat. She smiled and laughed, then removed the single hair off her coat. “Yes, I have a cat. Her name is Minnie.” You nodded approvingly at your brother.

 

Today Sherlock was a bit crabby. He had suffered from a mild fever all week and hadn't been allowed any visitors. You decided to cheer him up by playing some board games with him. When you got 'Operation' out Sherlock's eyes lit up. Sherlock went first and tried to get out the butterfly but his hand shook and he made the nose light up. Now it was your turn. You managed to get the bucket out, then the the horse and even the funny bone. Sherlock had a go at the wish bone, the spare ribs and the broken heart, every time setting off the alarm. Frustrated he crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head away. With a sigh you cleared the game away. You went over the table with all the get well soon cards and realized that there was still a small present from his birthday that he hadn't unwrapped yet. You grabbed it and brought it over to Sherlock. It aroused his interest.

He opened the small package and when his eyes caught sight of what was inside his whole face beamed. “My pirate hat!” He placed the black hat with a skull painted on it on his head with zest. “I finally got it. That's all I wanted. Now I am a real pirate!” You couldn't remember ever seeing Sherlock or anyone for that matter being so happy.

 

A week before Easter Sherlock was released from hospital. You were not there that day but when you saw Sherlock over the Easter holidays it almost seemed like that Sherlock had become his old energetic self again. Nothing in his behaviour seemed to be out of the ordinary. Now you never even knew how much your parents had told Sherlock about that night. They had only asked you to never mention it to your younger brother, that it was their responsibility to deal with it. You had nodded and accepted their request.

Sherlock's room had been refurbished. Additionally to the obvious changes that had to be made (the removal of the bloody mattress and carpet), your parents had decorated the room with all things pirate. There was a huge pirate flag hanging over Sherlock's bed, a poster of a pirate ship next to it, and his toy box looked like a treasure chest.

Nothing indicated that a young boy had almost lost his life in this room.

 

The night before you had to go back to boarding school you wandered passed by _his_ door. You stopped, put your hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. Now you had expected the door to maybe be locked, but it wasn't. You wondered if the room had been left untouched since that night, you might have even suspected the furniture in the room to be covered with white sheets, or somehow maybe the room being completely empty, but you most certainly hadn't expected this.

The carpet was gone, the wallpaper was gone, all the furniture were gone. The room was tiled from floor to ceiling. In the middle of the room there was a big table with Erlenmeyer flasks, Bunsen burners and lots of test tubes on it. On the wall there was a big display of the periodic system.

Your parents had turned Sherrinford's bedroom into a laboratory.

 

The summer holidays arrived and you spent two full months at home. You challenged Sherlock on a regular bases. Turning almost everything into a contest of deduction. Sherlock on the other hand tried to engage you into his games of make-believe. Wanting you to be his enemy he had to fight in order to win the game or to be his ally against an invisible force only Sherlock could see.

Due to the fact that you and Sherlock kept each other so busy, Mother had started working again. A housekeeper had been hired whose main responsibilities were cooking and cleaning, plus the occasional checking-in-on-you-two on the side. However Father and Mother both knew that the holidays were drawing to an end and that you would be going back to boarding school soon. In order to make things easier for Sherlock (or for themselves) they decided to get Sherlock a companion. A dog or to be more precise an Irish Setter. Sherlock immediately felt a strong affection for this dog and the two would become almost inseparable over the next few years. However the name that Sherlock had picked out for the dog made your flesh crawl:

 

Redbeard.

 


End file.
